Fisherman

Taking the small boat beneath the afternoon sun, the river from a surface level, hills spilling into sight rising beyond the town in cloaked and dusky light and beyond others, rising higher blue grey waves against the enclosing sky.

It's a small village, sitting in the shade watching, a cold drink, daily life carrying on around us. Two young girls on a pink bike, a smaller boy chasing them, dogs curled up out with the reach of the sun. Walk through the village, the river sometimes visible through a fringe of trees, boat engines humming merging with the sound of motorbikes, voices and music spilling out from lanes, sculptures of crates, empty bottles of beerlao along the side of the path. Small children selling offerings to the Buddha, 10000 kip to visit a wat, onwards to the end of the path and then back towards the jetty.

Turning right and descending the light's changed, the hills another Chinese painting above the water, intangible to word and lens, a collage of slopes and tones. The car ferry's approaching, the small ferry on the other side of the river: in a small boat a fisherman casts his net as an evening cruise passes, light splintering in its wake upon the parting water.

Back upon the other side, the sun now settings an orange bindi upon the purpled water, a small gathering holding cameras and phones, each of us attempting the impossible, to capture a moment beyond technology's grasp. I depart, walk down to the river's edge, chat with two monks landing from a boat ride. "Ah,' says one of them, having asked where I'm from. "Scotland, that belongs to England?" I look horrified, offer a quip about Laos and China which brings laughter and a few minutes later they depart upstairs to the street. And then, returning my gaze  towards the river, I watch as the murk claims the sun once again, fragile stripes of cloud attempting to flare with the afterglow but dragged down by the weight of the air.

In the night bazaar, a covered alley between the night market and the daily one, a huge plate of vegetarian buffet and a baguette balanced atop it as I take a seat at a bench. The air clouded with the smoke from barbecue, figures passing single file and contraflow through the gloom a cold cold bottle of beerlao IPA to quench my drouth and to calm the fire of an unexpected chilli. Small children pass to and fro in search of food, grabbing at the leftovers lingering, briefly, upon discarded plates, filling plastic bags or filling their mouths, gathering outside to share their gains with those less fortunate. Cats prowl, gather beneath tables in search of fish and meat, jump upon the tables in a race with the children, an unsettling eco system formed beneath the canvas stretched above us.

And tomorrow departure.